


between two hands

by bobtheacorn



Series: And Never Again Feel Weak [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Keith (Voltron), Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Black Paladin Keith (Voltron), But the angst comes first, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Racism, Red Paladin Lance (Voltron), like sooooooo much fluff toward the end y'all, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-09-22 14:12:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17061254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobtheacorn/pseuds/bobtheacorn
Summary: Keith expects Pidge, or even Allura, to act rashly or emotionally and compromise a mission - he has done it himself before, more times than he can count. But Hunk and Lance are the ones to always reign the others in when Keith can't. Lance keeps them in line, keeps them together and working as a unit. Lance calmly talks them through whatever issues arise and reasonably comes to a compromise with them, and takes on more of the burden of leadership than he has to.He's the most stable person in Keith's life.So Keith thinks it's fair to be deeply unsettled after Lance just yanked the ground out from under him in five different directions. Keith feels like he's free falling and he just hasn't hit the ground yet.//Lance loses his temper and comes to blows with some aliens who are derogatory towards Keith and his Galra heritage, which sabotages an important diplomacy mission.





	between two hands

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place (about) 1 year after part two, ocean storm.

It starts with a party in full-swing.

Really, it's more like an indoor festival than anything else - there are games and activities, as well as food and drinks and music. There are some children running underfoot despite the hour growing late, energized by the atmosphere. And Keith has actually been kind of enjoying this one, despite all the headache that's come along with how painfully casual the Dekkans and their neighbors are concerning how fractured and chaotic the rest of the universe is. Dekk has been thriving under an era of peace, safe from the threat of incursions from the previously-hostile Empire due to their remote location in space and a more militant outer ring of allied planets in their star system.

Because of this, they have an abundance of resources (money) that the Coalition desperately needs for ships, food, and medical supplies. The capital of the planet Dekk has been hosting the Paladins of Voltron for the better part of a movement now, and they've spent that time petitioning delegates from the surrounding system and attending galas and public events.

Hunk ropes the others into playing one of the games, and Keith is just bad enough at it that it makes the locals laugh. Lance makes it look easy, and the humanoid aliens all marvel at his dexterity and accuracy. He's easily one of their favorites. He's charming, and funny, and he doesn't let compliments sway him from more serious discussions. So really, it's no surprise when he snags the attention of one of the young Lords from one of the inner rings that had joined in the playful competition - and Keith can't really help the way he's aware of the subtle shift of Lance's body when that interest becomes mutual. The set of his shoulders, the confident movement of his hands, the curl of his smile, the way his voice deepens and his eyes brighten, the way he leans in to be closer than is strictly necessary.

Three years of living together, and fighting a war and occasionally each other, has attuned Keith to Lance's moods and mannerisms, and Keith has been on the receiving end of Lance's flirting, unintentional or otherwise, often enough that he recognizes it, now.

This time it floods his chest with something brittle instead of something warm.

He knows Lance likes to flirt, and he knows Lance never really takes it seriously. (They never stay on any one planet long enough for it to get serious, and Lance has talked about it before, in passing.

_ "It's fun. Exciting. I dunno. Why do you ask?"  _ His voice had taken on that teasing tone, _ "You jealous?" _

Keith had scoffed, but his face was red.)

It's not that Keith is jealous.

He's not jealous because Lance is looking at someone else with his bright blue eyes and eager fondness. He's not jealous because Lance is touching someone else, his hand lingering too long on their arm or shoulder whenever he laughs. He's not jealous because Lance does all of that with Keith, only to jerk away sometimes, as if he catches himself doing something he shouldn't.

So no. Keith isn't jealous.

He just…. quietly excuses himself from the rest of the activities, and makes another circuit around the room.

He has more important things to do other than worrying about who Lance decides to grace with his smile and his warm hands, and who he doesn't. He has better things to think about other than the way Lance's hand would fit in his, or how soft his hair would be if Keith could run his fingers through it, or how peaceful he would look asleep in Keith's arms - what kissing him might be like, if he could just -

Keith covers his eyes with one hand, cooling his insides and restless thoughts with a deep breath.

He decides he doesn't want to talk to anyone else after all, and makes his way to the edge of the ballroom without drawing attention to himself. He doesn't want to go all the way back to the rooms they've been granted during their stay on Dekk, either, knows it would be rude to just abandon the party without a word, so Keith finds a small hidden alcove suited exactly to his purpose. He walks by it twice to make sure no one else is in there before ducking behind the partition. It's a narrow space lined on all three walls with plush white couches and round pillows. The partition is one sided. From inside, Keith can see out through the dark lattice-work, but no one on the outside can see in.

It's darker than the brightly lit ballroom, and quieter.

Keith sinks into a corner of the couch, feet planted on the floor, knees apart. Allura would pinch him for sitting like this, but nobody's around to see right now. Keith slumps down until he is practically laying in the seat, his head cradled between two of the cushions, hair tickling his face from where it's been pulled unceremoniously from the hair tie at the nape of his neck.

Most of their accommodations have excelled in the comfort department. Soft carpets and smooth, cool clothing. Huge beds with tons of pillows and puffy weighted blankets. Kitchenettes stocked with snacks and drinks that are not only edible but actually really tasty. Keith's room shares a bathroom with Hunk and Lance, who have adjoined rooms. The bathtub is big enough for five people, and Keith hasn't even gotten to try it out yet because Lance has been living in it.

Keith frowns at that, idly watching the people milling about on the other side of the wall.

He needs to stop thinking about Lance.

\----

Allura is the one who finds him 

It's after Keith has been hiding for longer than is probably courteous, since this celebration is one of many to herald their potential alliance with these people - but it's been more than enough time for him to recharge his social batteries and he's not exactly regretting it. He's ready to get up when he sees her moving through the crowd with purpose. Her eyes don't light on the partition until after she's passed it by, and then she recognizes it and doubles back. Keith just hasn't gotten around to lifting himself from the cushions.

He's expecting a talking-to about his posture.

Allura surprises him by sighing and collapsing onto the couch next to him in exactly the same, slumped position, except for her legs, which she bends and leans against his.

"It's my turn to recharge," she says, sounding just as tired as he feels and closing her eyes, "You get out there and make niceties for a while."

"No thanks," Keith says, smiling.

"And here. Before I forget."

Allura reaches between them suddenly, and Keith leans aside, looking down as she pulls her small purse free. She drops it in his lap as if she wants nothing more to do with it. Keith doesn't understand why she bothered carrying it in the first place until he opens the flap. The purse is heavy, stuffed to bursting with cookies - at least, what Keith and the others have been calling cookies.

They can't pronounce whatever the Dekkans are calling them.

They're some kind of celebratory cookie made to honor guests. Keith privately thinks that if that's the case, they could be a little more appetizing. The cookies are dry and tasteless, and they crumble in your mouth and linger there until you wash them down.

Keith makes a face and tosses the purse into the cushions, a few cookies flying free.

"I know it's impolite to refuse them," Allura is saying, kneading her forehead with her fingertips, eyes firmly closed, "But I've had so many that I'm absolutely stuffed. I don't even think I can move."

"What makes you think I want them?"

"It's impolite to refuse them!"

Allura pretends to be outraged, and Keith laughs.

"I'll take my chances."

His arms are crossed over his chest, his head tipped to the side as he watches the party progress through the lattice-work. It's quiet between them. Keith doesn't realize Allura is people-watching too until she makes a disgusted noise over his shoulder. Keith's gaze immediately lands on the man in question, who is sidling through the crowd just on the edge of their shared view, and he groans as well.

The royal advisor to the Lady Lelania, Telmen.

He's not the fun, informative, and welcoming kind of advisor that Coran is. He's the stuck-up kind that likes to sneer and make backhanded comments about people who he imagines are beneath him, even if they are esteemed guests of the Crown. The kind of guy who is comfortable enough in his position of mediocre power to do and say whatever he likes with no fear of repercussions. Keith has known Telman was bad news from the moment he greeted them at the gate. He had made his disdain of Keith's "low breeding" clear and has been condescending and belligerent toward him ever since.

Keith had foster parents like that - adults that wanted to make him angry enough to lash out first so they could prove to themselves that they were right about him. Keith fell for that a lot as a kid, but he's comfortable enough with who he is now that it doesn't bother him like it used to. He ignores Telman's blatant attempts to antagonize him, and doesn't give his words any weight. There are a few others like him, people whose hatred of the Galra doesn't come from a place of fear or anger at the injustice of their actual crimes, but rather a disdain for their violent and "barbaric" tendencies. That blind prejudice is just one of the things the Paladins have been pushing against during their time here.

"Thank the Ancients he can't see us," Allura says. The assurance doesn't stop her from folding a slender hand over her eyes and sinking down further as if to hide behind Keith. "I have  _ never  _ wanted to punch someone in the face so thoroughly."

Keith smirks at her, "What happened to 'diplomacy first'?"

Allura levels him with a stare.

"Sometimes it is better to throw hands than to throw words." The way she says it makes Keith think she's quoting some age-old Altean philosophy, but it just sounds like something Pidge would say. "Diplomacy is for those who can truly appreciate the merits of setting aside their differences and coming together toward a common goal. Not for people who remain purposefully ignorant, whose only real interest is in sowing discord and strengthening their own personal gain."

"Nice way of saying 'diplomacy first, unless you're a prick'," Keith says.

"Well, he is a prick, then." Keith huffs out a laugh at hearing Allura say this without a hint of hesitation. She doesn't know what it means, but she latches onto the slang anyway. "He's trying to turn everyone against us just because you're part Galra. I don't even know how he found out."

"It's not like it's a secret or anything. I'm not trying to hide it."

"No, and it's not something we're ashamed of, but it's also not something you've advertised. I can't help but think he must have had someone gathering information about us prior to our scheduled visit. He knows far too much about a lot of things for someone living in such a remote, and frankly spoiled, star system."

"You think he's got friends outside of here? Who would have him?"

"I don't know," Allura admits, "But I don't like that he's so close to Lelania's confidence. I hate to think what would happen if he were to persuade her against us..."

They lapse into silence again after that, watching the flow of the crowd. Keith only met the Lady Lelania once when they first arrived and had been surprised to learn that the ruler of the planet Dekk and its neighbors is a nine year old child. They have different customs around here, so the Crown is more of a figurehead than an active leader, though they still hold infinite sway. Even if Keith and his team convince the other rulers of individual planets and sectors to help with their cause, if Lelania disagrees for any reason then they've wasted all their time and energy.

Allura nudges Keith, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"Lance is looking for you."

Keith is staring out the lattice-work, so of course he notices Lance the second the other man pushes his way into view, flitting buoyantly from one group of people to the next. Keith watches the way Lance's mouth shapes around his name in question, eyes bright and hopeful as he glances around - as well as the press of his lips and the slight crease of his brow when whoever he's asking shakes their head and points him in another direction. Keith tries to detach himself from the way his heart leaps in his chest.

"I doubt that," he says, purposefully missing the way Allura rolls her eyes.

"He probably wants to dance," she says. She lifts her wrist, touching the silver bangle there, and a small holoscreen projects the hour. "I should go and find Lord Letlii'n."

"That old guy that's been hanging onto your dress all night?"

_ "That old guy _ is one of the wealthiest and most influential Lords in this star system, and we need his approval as well as his assets in order to move forward with the alliance. If he wants me to carry him across the dance floor after his hip gives out on him, he only has to ask."

Allura moves to her feet, but pauses to stretch. Her dress is made of sleek fabric, blue and white, with streaming sleeves. She brushes out the wrinkles in her skirt and adjusts the top, already striding toward the end of the partition. She gives Keith a pointed look before she enters the party once more, and Keith lets out a sigh, his head falling back against the pillows. He doesn't want to dance. He's bad at approaching people on his own in situations like this. But he can at least go out there and make himself available if anyone asks.

He hears the music picking up on the other side of the room, the melody somewhat familiar.

Lance has already disappeared again.

Then, as if pulled by some invisible string, Lance slips suddenly out of the shifting crowd and comes straight to the alcove where Keith is hiding. Allura probably ratted him out. Keith tries to stamp down the fluttering of his nerves, irritated. He doesn't want to get pulled out onto the floor only to have to watch Lance dancing with someone else, either. He's already forming an excuse by the time Lance steps around the partition and into the dim light: He has a headache. He feels sick.

Something he doesn't have to work too hard to make convincing.

"There you are! I've been looking all over for you," Lance says, grinning. He steps up to the couch, makes a beckoning motion. "C'mon, Keith, the dancing's already started!"

"So go find someone to dance with," Keith says, as impartially as he can manage.

"Uh, what part of 'I've been looking for  _ you' _ failed to penetrate that mullet of yours?"

Lance presses up against Keith's knees and leans over him, both hands extended, palms down. He makes another grabbing motion, bouncing with impatience, and Keith reaches up to take his hands before he can stop himself. Lance pulls him to his feet. Keith's reward is Lance's long fingers wrapped carefully around his, an eager smile aimed right at him before Lance turns away. Lance tugs Keith by the hand, then let's it go to grasp at his elbow instead, pulling him along.

Keith is walking before he realizes it, caught up in the sway of Lance's excitement.

He stops them just before they exit the alcove, rooting his feet and pulling his arm free.

"Don't you have enough of an audience?"

Keith's words lack any real bite to them, but they still taste bitter on his tongue and he feels bad for saying it when he doesn't mean it. His mood tanked over half a varga ago - because he's jealous when Lance pays attention to someone else, and confused when Lance pays attention to him. That's no reason to ruin Lance's good time by saying something like that.

Lance is looking at him in confusion.

"I don't want an audience, I wanna dance with you, genius," he says.

Keith's mind blanks out.

"Why?" he asks flatly.

Lance huffs, "C'mon, do I need a reason? We've been practicing together."

That's true. They  _ have _ been practicing together. Coran paired them off and made all of them practice dancing as well as proper social behaviors, and while Lance picked up the foreign steps naturally, Keith is still awkward and over-thinks the movements, so he needed extra help. He's more comfortable with Lance than he would be with a stranger. Lance knows this, and adds, "I thought that might make it easier for you to get out on the floor instead of hiding back here by yourself all night."

"Dancing isn't mandatory, Lance," Keith says, heavy inside as that realization settles in. Lance doesn't  _ want _ to dance with him. He just thinks that he  _ should.  _ "I'm fine sitting it out."

"But we  _ practiced, _ Keith. What's the point of practicing if you don't show off your sweet moves?? Come on, just  _ one _ dance. You won't regret it, I promise!"

Lance reaches out and takes him by the wrist, and pulls him out into the lights and into the crowd before Keith can acquiesce. He was going to give in all along. He's weak like that.... Weak for Lance's smile and his energy. Weak for Lance's body pressed closely to his as they break through the onlookers and take up their now somewhat familiar positions, joining the people moving on the dance floor.

It's one of the slower songs, and Keith is grateful because his heart is beating like a wild bird in his chest right now, his head down, gaze trained on his feet. If it were a most boisterous song, he would be tripping over his uncertainty and probably taking Lance down with him to the floor. That's all they need. To make a scene like that when Keith is already under intense scrutiny for being half-Galra.

This is one that they've practiced together dozens of times, though. Keith is able to ease into it and swallow down his nerves over the fact that this is a crowded ballroom and not the empty training deck of the Castle.

Lance has Keith's hands cupped gently in his own, the subtle pressure telling Keith where to move next, when to step forward, when to pivot back, when to let go for a spin or to briefly switch partners with the nearest couple. That makes his stomach drop unpleasantly, having to make contact with someone else, but he's anticipating it, knows it's part of the dance, and when he turns again Lance is back with his wide smile and open hands. The relief Keith feels is giddy and stupid.

"See?" Lance says, grinning, "This isn't so bad."

"Not for you." Keith drops his eyes, realizing he was looking at Lance too much, and goes back to watching his feet. That smile is contagious. "You like this kinda thing."

"Yeah, but you don't totally suck at it, either."

"I've had a pretty decent teacher."

Lance laughs sharply, "Oh, just  _ pretty decent. _ Okay. Cool. Whatever."

"Shut up, I can't concentrate."

"You don't  _ have _ to concentrate, just feel the music and let your body move!"

"I can't feel anything if you don't stop talking."

"That's rude!"

Okay. If he's being honest, Keith…. maybe likes dancing.

With Lance.

The same way he likes fighting with him, or training with him, or lounging on the couch during a slow day and watching movies or playing video games with him.

When the first song ends, Keith doesn't ask to stop. He doesn't step away, even though Lance gives him the chance to, pausing and loosening his grip on Keith's hands. Maybe it's Keith imagination, but he looks disappointed at having to let go so soon. Keith seizes on Lance's momentary hesitation, taking the lead, and Lance falls into step with him right away, his laughter energetic as it bubbles up between them. Keith loses track of time like this. Their occasional comments, softly spoken. One song segueing into another. He gets lost in the flow of music and the way their bodies move in unison. He gets lost in Lance's voice, his blue eyes and his dark hands and his white teeth when he flashes Keith a wild grin, the way his brown hair sticks to his forehead and curls at his temples.

And then Keith finally oversteps.

He bumps into Lance, who rights them and keeps them moving without missing a beat. Keith is scowling at his traitorous feet when Lance laughs. The sound gusts over the top of Keith's head and it takes all of his effort not to drag his eyes up.

"Would you relax?" Lance asks, "Stop overthinking it, dude, you were doing so great!"

"I don't remember this one that well," Keith mutters, unconsciously tensing as he struggles to think of the right steps before he has to make them.

Lance squeezes his hand, moves the other around his side to guide him in the right direction. It's a small touch, but it burns Keith's skin even through the layer of clothes; Lance's palm curled and warm, each finger pressing indents between the cage of his ribs.

His body moves where Lance tells it to while Keith's mind is stalling.

"It's just like dodging through an asteroid field," Lance says flippantly.

Keith snorts, fighting a smile. That's the same thing Lance kept telling him during practice.

"This isn't like piloting, Lance," Keith says.

"Oh? You wanna hear my award-winning arguments again?"

"No."

"I was so sure I had you convinced last time."

"Shut up."

"See, you're already more relaxed! Is it the sound of my voice?" He drops it teasingly, and Keith feels his face warm again.

Lance probably doesn't mean for that to be so flirty, and Keith suddenly wants to pull away, even though he's melting under the attention. He… He shouldn't indulge in this if Lance doesn't mean it. It feels good right now. It feels  _ so _ good being close to him, and joking with him, and Keith doesn't like dancing but he likes doing it with Lance. It's exhilarating and fun and comfortable and  _ easy, _ and he can't help wondering what else would feel good, if it was Lance….

But it just hurts later on.

It hurts knowing this doesn't mean the same thing to Lance that it means to Keith, and he's just going to be brushed aside for someone else after this moment is over.

"Are you gonna pass me this time?" Lance asks, head turning as he scans their neighbors, oblivious to Keith's inner struggle when he meets his eyes, "Or do you want me to pass you?"

Keith doesn't say anything. He squeezes Lance's hands, moves with purpose. Lance picks up his body's signals and lets go, turning into the nearest persons waiting hands and laughing face. Keith stops where he is, standing amid the throng of moving bodies, his chest heaving slightly now that he's still and everything is catching up with him. His ears are ringing, his throat tight.

He can't even hear the music anymore.

Keith turns and leaves, and tries not to jostle any of the dancers on his way out.

\----

Lance walks to the edge of the ballroom, shrugging in between the tightly packed people, scanning every face he passes. He gets hailed a couple of times - Lords or Ladies, Generals or members of the Court, all wanting to talk to him and ask him questions about the Coalition, offering to dance or drink with him. Lance is distracted, upset, and he quickly-but-politely declines them all. It's not until he breaks free of the crowd, when he's standing there alone at the edge where the lights are dimmer and it's cooler, that he really lets what just happened sink in.

Keith left him standing there on the dance floor, and didn't even say anything before ditching out.

He always does that. He always just bails right when Lance thinks they're getting....

Maybe it was too much.

_ Maybe  _ **_I'm_ ** _ too much, _ Lance thinks sullenly, looking down at where he's holding the back of his own hand, looking at his empty palm. He tries to push down the feeling crawling up his insides, burning behind his eyes. He knows he does that a lot. He gets too comfortable with his affection because he  _ wants _ so badly to be like that with Keith, and before he remembers to reign himself in Keith always pulls away, and then things are awkward and quiet between them for a while, like they're both walking barefoot over broken glass.

Lance shakes his head, looks around. He walks the perimeter of the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of that obnoxious mullet. He finds Pidge and Hunk instead, occupying a couple of chairs in a secluded corner near the doors leading out into the gardens. Hunk looks like he's about two seconds away from puking, head in his hands between his knees, and Pidge is helpfully rubbing his back. Pidge looks up as Lance approaches, though it's without any real sense of urgency.

"What's up with Hunk?" Lance asks.

Hunk groans in answer. Pidge grins, adding a second hand as they rub between Hunk's big shoulders and down the middle of his back, trying to hit all the pressure points to ease some of his nausea.

"He had too many of those cookies and then got too hot during the first dance. He almost hurled on the Lord from Finwasy's niece Andromeda."

"It's impolite to refuse them," Hunk mumbles the familiar litany that Coran and Allura have been drilling into them for three movements straight.

Lance lets out a sympathetic chuckle, "That doesn't mean you have to eat them, Hunk, why do you think I asked for such big jacket pockets when they were tailoring our clothes? I've been turning them out onto empty trays when nobody's looking all night. Allura's carrying a purse!"

"Backpack," Pidge says, shaking theirs. Lance can hear the shuffle-crunch of cookies being jostled. Pidge smirks, "Keith's been offering them back. Talk about a power move."

Lance's face falls at that. Pidge notices, lifting their eyebrows, expression cooling somewhat as they watch Lance put a hand to the back of his neck.

"Have you guys  _ seen _ Keith, by any chance?"

"Yeah," Hunk says thickly, stifling a groan, "He said he wasn't feeling good either."

Pidge doesn't bother paraphrasing to spare anyone's feelings, "Actually, what he  _ said _ was, 'I'm not feeling good  _ if anyone asks,' _ and then he rushed out of here. So what? Did you guys fight or something?"

"No, I - we were getting along. We were dancing."

Pidge's brow furrows.

"You were dancing?"

"Yeah."

"Like with each other?"

"Yeah?"

"Why?"

"Because I - we - " Lance's face reddens slightly. He's not expecting the question a second time, and he tries not to be angry. He really does. He shouldn't have to explain himself. "We've been practicing together. We're friends. Why  _ wouldn't _ we dance together?"

Pidge doesn't answer. Hunk's head is between his knees. He's staring at the floor, and Pidge is looking at Lance, and Lance still feels like some unspoken thing passes between the two of them.

"What?" he snaps.

"Nothing," Pidge sighs, "Look, maybe he really wasn't feeling well and just needed some air. If you still want to dance, it's not like you have a shortage of partners to choose from. Lord Tristen has been following you around all night - "

"If I wanted to dance with someone else  _ I would have asked someone else, Pidge." _

Pidge's eyebrows shoot down, mouth setting into a firm frown.

"Wow, I can definitely see why Keith might not have wanted to dance with you."

"What's  _ that _ supposed to mean!"

"I'm just saying." Sitting miserably in between them, Hunk groans, as if begging Pidge to keep what they're saying to themself. Pidge ignores him, rolls their eyes, throws their hand, "I'm  _ just _ saying. If the guy I had a massive crush on kept purposefully flirting with someone else whenever I was around and then made it a point to single me out for a pity dance, I would get tired of being yanked around, too, and I would have dipped out at the first chance I got."

The words hit Lance like a punch to the chest - like ice water sinking down, soaking into his veins and beating through his bloodstream.

"I don't - I don't  _ do that _ \- "

He is too caught up in Pidge's accusation, as if he's doing something  _ wrong. _

"I've watched you do it no less than three times,  _ just tonight, _ Lance," Pidge says, exasperated, "Every time you notice Keith is in your immediate vicinity - " They snap their fingers. Lance flinches. "Suddenly you're all touchy-feely with whoever you're standing beside. Tonight? That's been Tristen. You've been all over that guy up until you decided, what, ten minutes ago, that you wanted to dance with Keith? You know Keith doesn't even like dancing, Lance."

Hunk groans, "Guys, this isn't the place…"

"I don't care if it's the place, I'm sick of this!"

Lance can't listen anymore. He can't - he can't deal with this.

He spins away and walks on shaking legs to the nearest exit, shoving open the double doors. Night has fallen, but several lamps on the patio are lit, casting pale light. The fresh air, the sudden lack of  _ noise, _ clears his head a little bit, and Lance uses it to steady his breathing. He paces along the balcony, following the trail of white-blue lights strung along the ornate bannister until he finds a flight of stairs leading down into the center of the gardens.

Their rooms are just on the other side. If he takes this path on the right - Lance stops where he is on the stone walkway, realizing with a jolt that he's still looking for Keith. Even if he wasn't consciously aware of it, his body was moving, seeking Keith out.

What for? Why is he bothering?

It's not like…. Keith cares whether or not Lance is flirting. Pidge is full of it. Sure, he thinks it's annoying, and sometimes tells Lance to stop because he's being a distraction. He does do  _ that  _ on purpose, he's just trying to lighten the mood. It's fun. But he doesn't…. He doesn't flirt with other people to make Keith pay attention to him. That's….

They've been here for days trying to persuade these people to help with the relief efforts of the war. Lance knows this routine by heart. He was being  _ nice. _

Wasn't that the entire point?

If that was the point, then why does he feel like he's suffocating?

Lance sucks in a breath, and realizes he's crying, tears of frustration sliding down his face. He swipes at them angrily with the back of his hand. He looks down, and the ground blurs rapidly.

He wants....

Maybe he should stop pretending like he doesn't know what he wants.

\----

Lance struggles for a few minutes trying to keep his composure. He does that calm-down technique he learned from Coran, tensing specific muscle groups and then relaxing them, measuring his breathing as he does the motions. He tries to go back to the ballroom, and takes about five steps on weak legs before he realizes it's a lost cause. He feels like his whole chest is cracking under the pressure of holding it all back. So he stumbles to an out-of-the-way bench where he can sit down and sulk in peace.

This doesn't feel good.

This feels juvenile, and stupid.

He shouldn't still be crying because he loves Keith, and Keith doesn't want him, and he's too much of a coward to even say anything and clear the air when it gets like this. At least then he could apologize whenever he says or does something stupid. At least then Keith maybe wouldn't get so annoyed at him and just leave him like that without saying anything…

\----

Lance is still sitting on that bench, head propped in his hands, almost half an hour later. Even from here, he can faintly hear the party going on in the distance. He can even see the enormous, glowing ballroom windows from where he's hidden between two conveniently spaced bushes, past the swaying, budding trees and tall posts covered with ivy. So he's been listening to that, letting the trill and hum of alien instruments and the soft murmur of a hundred voices work to calm him down.

In the wake of his breaking emotions, he feels like he may have overreacted.

He should apologize to Pidge for snapping at them. He knows they mean well. And he should definitely apologize to Keith for… Well, he thinks he deserves some kind of apology, too, actually.

Lance is still chewing that over, his annoyance and hurt feelings a dull thing at the back of his mind, when he hears the scuffle of feet approaching. Having been ambushed more times than he can count, Lance instinctively tunes in, turning his head toward the sounds. His bench is a little ways off the path, scooped into a bowl of artfully placed trees and bushes. The path circles around and then splits off, one direction heading toward the balcony outside the ballroom, and the other into a viewing circle with stone plaques and a bright assortment of flowers.

It sounds like there are people in the area behind him, talking in low voices. It's easy enough to overhear with only a handful of trees and darkness standing in between them.

One of them is gruffly saying, "I don't like it, either. But I think you should leave it alone, Telmen. Most of them have already agreed whether they've made the choice official or not. They want to open up trading routes again. It only makes sense to join the Coalition at this point."

There's a scoff that has Lance frowning; he recognizes that reedy voice as Lelania's Counselor, "They're allied with the Empire."

"They're reigning the Empire in," a third voice says. This one sounds younger than the others, hesitant but optimistic. "They're freeing planets, and they're relocating refugees as well as all the Galra settlements. The Empire is cooperating with them, and the Emperor is even paying restitution for the homes and the lives that the Galra have destroyed."

"The Galra don't know how to do anything other than spread their disease," Telmen says, disgust apparent in his tone, "This is just a new way of doing what they've already been doing for 10,000 years. They're breeding with everything. They've bred with some of the Earthlings. They'll be breeding with us next if we let Voltron have their way."

"Don't say that, Telmen," the first voice reprimands.

"It's the truth!"

"This doesn't have anything to do with breeding," the younger one says, "We don't have to take anyone in. They're only asking for support. Something superficial. Besides, the half-breed isn't so bad. He's certainly not as aggressive as the full-blooded Galra are. We've all heard the stories."

"The humans have made him docile," the first voice sounds dismissive now, "He's trained to behave, but he's still a Galra, mixed or not. He'll turn on them when he gets tired of being kept like a pet."

"He's the leader of Voltron," the younger one says, uncertain.

"A fancy title," Telmen sneers, "That's all the more reason not to take them seriously. Imagine putting an animal in that kind of position. It's - "

They don't find out what it is.

Lance is on his feet before he can catch up with himself, hands balled into tight fists, and crashing through the undergrowth. The three men startled but stand rooted to the spot. Lance's chest is heaving with his breath, acid hot. He feels like the embodiment of fire right now, anger boiling in every molecule in his body and spreading out through his skin, like anything he touches is going to burn.

"First of all," he snarls, not slowing his approach. Telmen is closest to him, sputtering. The owner of the first voice is a stocky General who Lance knows he's been introduced to, whose name he can't remember, who remains unmoved. The youngster of the bunch tumbles back as Lance advances, "Keith is a  _ person. _ He's an amazing, loving person who's done more for the entire universe in the short time he's been in space than all three of you have ever done for anyone your entire lives! And he deserves to be treated with some  _ fucking  _ respect after everything he's been through! And  _ second  _ of all!"

Lance's fist catches Telmen in the face, knocks him, yelping, to the ground. It's not enough - it is not nearly enough - and Lance follows him down, swinging.

\----

The private rooms they've been using during their stay on Dekk are all annexed together; a common room nested in the center, a hallway leading off into the main body of the sprawling estate. Since the common room is empty when Hunk walks in, he knows Lance must be in his own room. He has his communicator out, staring at the text with his brow furrowed. He's still feeling kind of nauseous from earlier, but when his buddy sends him a text that obliquely says,  _ SOS, _ his unsettled stomach drops to the bottom of his priority list.

"Lance?" Hunk calls, knocking on the door out of habit to announce his presence even though it's standing open.

He stops right in the doorway, though, because Lance's room is…. It's a mess. A mess that is totally out of character for Lance and is a little disturbing to see, if Hunk is honest. The contents of Lance's suitcase are spilled all over the floor and bedspread, clothes scattered here and there. The suitcase itself is gaping and half-empty.

Hunk edges toward the bathroom.

"Uhh… Lance?"

The light is on, and there's steam rolling out along the top of the open door. The mirror is fogged. The shower is running, the curtain thrust aside. But Lance is sitting on the bench in front of the wide vanity table, facing away from it, only half out of his clothes.

He's cradling his head in a bloody towel.

"Oh my god!  _ Lance!" _ Hunk gasps. Lance lifts his head out of the towel, putting his bruised, bloody face on full display. "Dude, what happened!?"

"Nothing." It barely even sounds like Lance's voice, "I - "

"Nu-uh! You tell me what happened right now, man! This isn't funny! Have you seen your face!?"

"I saw it, Hunk," Lance says quietly, staring at the towel, "I - "

The door to the common room  _ bangs _ open like someone kicks it in, sends it slamming into the wall behind it, and Keith's voice barks,  _ "Lance!" _ Hunk flinches, spinning around. He unintentionally bars the door. It's not really hard to do. He's a big guy. It's a small door. Keith storms into Lance's room and only comes up short because Hunk is standing in his way.

He still tries to get around him, snarling at Lance,  _ "What the hell's the matter with you?" _

Lance shoots to his feet, matching Keith's volume and anger beat for beat,  _ "What's the matter with  _ **_me?!_ ** _ Are you kidding me!" _

He barely gets his mouth open before Keith is yelling over him, leaning around Hunk in order to glare at Lance, like it might carry his voice further, "Lance, you beat Telmen until he was unconscious! General Arjun is also badly injured! What the hell were you thinking? We've been kissing these people's asses for a week trying to get them to help us, why would you do something stupid like this  _ now?" _

"I know I made a bad choice, Keith, I don't need you to rub it in my face!!"

"Your _'bad choice'_ reflects badly on _me!_ _I'm_ the leader! I'm the one who's responsible for your behavior! I'm the one who's been bending over backwards to please these guys because they already hate me and think I'm not good enough to do this job and then you go and prove them right by pulling a stunt like _this!_ I can't believe you would compromise our mission, Lance!"

"It's not like I  _ planned _ on compromising the mission and  _ embarrassing  _ you! It just happened!!"

"How does something like this  _ just happen! _ You attacked them for no reason!!"

_ "I didn't- " _

"I can literally see that you're bleeding, Lance, you didn't do that to yourself!!"

"Whoa, okay, hey," Hunk tries, hands up in a placating gesture that goes completely unnoticed.

"I didn't  _ attack them _ for  _ no reason, _ they were talking about  _ you _ \- saying awful stuff! It pissed me off!"

_ "That's  _ what this was about!?"

"Yes!!"

"Guys…!"

_ "You know they don't like the Galra!! _ You know they don't like  _ me, _ why the hell is this suddenly an issue for you  _ now!? _ We've been dealing with that this entire time!!"

"I know that!!"

_ "Do you!?" _

"Seriously! Guys, I am literally right in the middle here, can you not do this?" Hunk has to raise his voice into a bellow to even get their attention despite this, has been gripping the doorframe so he can't be budged because Lance and Keith are both shoving at him, trying to get at each other, and he's had enough of it. "Talk to each other like your friends! I'm not moving until you do."

Keith just  _ barely _ restrains himself, hands curled into tight fists at his sides.

"You think I don't know what kind of stuff they've been saying about me?" he asks, all the heat still in his voice even though he's not yelling anymore, "'I'm not deaf, Lance! I just don't care! People have been talking down to me over half my life, I stopped listening to that crap a long time ago! I know I'm better than that, I'm  _ trying _ to  _ be _ better than that! It doesn't bother me!"

"Well, it bothers me!!"

_ "Why!?" _

"Because I love you, you idiot!"

Keith staggers back. Lance is too fired up to notice, can't see Keith's surprise or confusion because Hunk is standing in between them, hands clamped over his mouth. He continues on the same breath, "I love you and I'm not just going to stand back and let someone talk about you like a dog, Keith! I left the party to get some air, I didn't mean to overhear them, but I  _ did _ and I - I just - they called you an  _ animal _ \- some awful shit about - I can't even repeat it! I got up to tell them off, and I just lost it, okay! You just - "

"Lance - "

"You just  _ ditched _ me earlier! You didn't even say anything to me, you just  _ left _ me standing there by myself! It hurt my stupid feelings, alright!? I was mad at you and upset at you, and I still couldn't stand to listen to them talking about you!"

_ "Lance." _

"And now you're not even going to let me explain myself!"

_ "Lance!" _

_ "What!?" _

Keith is looking at him through the tiny fissure of space between Hunk and the doorframe, his expression slack, all his anger washed away.

"You love me?" Keith asks like he hasn't fully processed it himself.

Hunk turns slightly to look at Lance. Lance stares past him at Keith uncomprehendingly, shock bleeding into his body as his own words catch up to him. It's the first chance Hunk has really gotten to see the extent of the damage from his fight - Lance's face is bruised, scraped and bloody, his left cheekbone is slightly swollen. His knuckles are busted, his clothes torn. He looks oddly pale underneath all that, like he might faint, his ocean blue eyes wide and focused solely on Keith.

He croaks, "W-what?"

It's faint, barely a word at all.

Keith clarifies, sounding stunned, "You said you love me."

"I - " Lance lifts his hand to cover his mouth, and it's very noticeably shaking. "No, I - "

"Keith," Hunk says, turning to him, "Get out."

Keith jolts. He looks at Hunk like he just appeared out of nowhere and not like he's been standing here as an unhappy witness to this entire spectacle, his eyebrows dipping down.

"What - "

"Get out," Hunk says again, firmly. No way he's budging on this.

Keith hesitates, looks at Lance, who isn't looking at him anymore, whose breathing is broken and muffled by his hand. Keith takes one tentative step away, and then another. He steps over the mess of Lance's scattered belongings - keeps looking at Hunk with wide eyes like he might change his mind - until he's fully out the door, closing it behind him to give them some privacy. This is definitely not the way Hunk expected things to go down. He turns back to Lance, moves past him to turn off the shower that is running uselessly in the background.

It's just choking the air in here.

Lance sinks back down onto the bench in front of the vanity and puts his face in the towel again, cradled against his hands and knees. His whole body is bent and trembling. It rattles the table behind him, it's contents shaking gently. As if he wasn't already the picture of misery, a low, sobbing whine works its way out of the confines of the towel.

Hunk feels his own heart break a little. He sits on the edge of the narrow bench and puts a comforting arm around Lance's shoulders, squeezing him tightly.

Lance whispers thickly, "What's wrong with me, Hunk?"

"There's nothing wrong with you, Lance."

"I keep screwing everything up. I -"

"You didn't screw everything up," Hunk says, then backpedals as soon as Lance lifts a severe look at him from underneath the towel, throwing his hands out in front of him to encompass the entire situation. "Okay. Alright. Yes. You did screw up, this is pretty bad, but like - Look, I don't know what happened tonight, but you're our friend and we're gonna stick with you no matter what. If we don't get this alliance, then so what? It's one small cluster of planets out of the entire universe. And if they're going to be a bunch of hate-mongering jerks, then we don't want their help, anyway. And if you're worried about this whatever with Keith - "

Lance flinches, face twisting up behind his hand.

Hunk continues, "You two need to talk. Like have a real, adult conversation about your feelings and junk, about what you _want_ from each other, because that's the only thing that's going to fix this, dude, and you know it. You're no good at keeping your feelings shut in like this and it's not good for you, and Keith is… Well it's always kind of hard to tell what Keith is thinking. But I know for a fact that he's not thinking whatever you think he's thinking."

Lance doesn't say anything. Hunk sits beside him, periodically rubbing his arm and keeping Lance in his embrace, knowing he's helping, at least marginally, just by being there. They both look up at the soft knocking on the bedroom door.

Allura opens it, sticking her head in.

"The guards are here to escort Lance," she says, her expression tight with anger and concern, "He has an audience with Lelania."

"What, right now?" Hunk asks, frowning, "It's like, the middle of the night."

"They are requesting his presence immediately."

It sounds like a recitation that the princess is not particularly pleased to relay. It's clearly not a request if they've sent the guards instead of an escort, if they're not waiting until morning.

Lance pulls in a deep breath and steadies himself. He stands, catching a glimpse of his face through the trickling condensation on the mirror. Some of his bravado goes out - the way his brow creases, the way his shoulders slump. Lance looks down at his torn shirt, at the blood that makes it stick to his skin until he peels it away with a wince. The dark color and the small tear in the already-red fabric gives Hunk the impression that it's not someone else's blood.

"Let me get - " Lance hesitates, starts over, "Let me get cleaned up first."

"I'll grab a new shirt," Hunk says, making eye contact with Allura behind Lance's back as he gets up from the bench.

She slips inside with a small nod and closes the door neatly behind her while Hunk combs through the piles of Lance's clothes spread out on the bed. Lance pulls his ruined shirt off with stiff movements, and the reason why becomes obvious: there is a wide bandage on his left side, the white absorbent material already saturated with blood. Lance puts his hand over it as if that might hide it. He doesn't look at Allura. He drops the shirt at his feet, indifferent to where it lands, and starts some water running in the sink to wash his face.

Silently, Allura picks up his wrist and moves his hand out of the way. It looks like a knife caught him right under the ribs, angled upward, and it's a miracle that it doesn't seem to have punctured a lung or anything more severe. Allura skims her fingers over the bandage, then peels it back.

Lance's face twists into a grimace, but he's still not looking at her.

Allura places her hand over the wound the moment she has the bandage off and before the bleeding can start again in earnest, pulling from the energy inside her own body, and Lance's, in order to seal it quickly. It only takes a matter of seconds, an administration of her powers that she is now all too familiar with.

It leaves a faint pink scar behind on Lance's tanned skin, but that will fade after a few hours.

Pidge pokes their head into the room, next.

"What's going on?" they ask, "The guards are getting antsy."

The others are just on their way out. Pidge pushes the door open for them and backs out of the way. They fall into step between Hunk and Allura, sweeping Lance with a critically assessing gaze, noting the change of clothes and his bruised face, schooled into something stubbornly impassive. The four guards armed with spears are positioned in front of the hallway leading out from the common room. Keith is standing directly across from the guards with his arms folded, scowling openly.

"This seems a bit excessive," Allura insists, frowning as one of the guards motions for Lance and he steps wordlessly into their midst, "We are perfectly capable of delivering him there ourselves."

"We have our orders, Princess," the front most guard says, "The Red Paladin is to come with us. The rest may follow."

\----

It should feel strange sitting here on his knees on the cold floor, in front of a little girl who is just barely awake, and knowing she holds his fate in her hands. After everything else that's happened tonight? Lance is numb.

He let down his team. He let down a good portion of the universe, people who were counting on the alliance and the relief it could provide. He thinks he must have… blacked out or something. He does not remember deliberately beating Telmen until he couldn't get up anymore. He just started hitting him, and then couldn't stop, and when the general tried to pull him off, Lance hit him, too. He put up more of a fight. Lance doesn't even remember the pain of being stabbed, adrenaline too high.

Staggering through the garden, to his room, tearing through his belongings looking for a first aid kit - these things are all a blur. He was going to take a shower. He was going to change clothes. What was he going to do then? Just go back to the party? Hide in his room?

He hadn't known what to do.

It's why he text Hunk in the first place.

And now he's woken this little girl up in the middle of the night because he's a psycho who couldn't control his temper. He's  _ never _ lost it like that before. Not unless it was during an actual fight, not unless his or someone else's life was on the line.

He just… snapped.

And his body aches with the consequences.

Lelania yawns behind her small hand without bothering to hide it. She is sitting in the same position that Lance is, on her knees on a raised dais at the head of a short set of stairs, on a plush pillow that puffs up under her whenever she moves. She drops her hand, recovering from her exhausted display, and finally looks at him. Her eyes are a bright, eery lavender, outlined in gold.

Lance isn't usually unnerved by alien eyes - he thinks they're weirdly attractive, actually - alluring - but Lelania's pupil-less sclera radiate a presence that doesn't fit her appearance. A deity that is eons old crammed into the body of a little girl. It sends a shiver raking down Lance's spine involuntarily, has him dropping his gaze, dreading whatever is coming next.

Lelania looks sleepy, expression droopy as she takes in her surroundings at her own quiet pace.

The vast and vaulting room is lit only around the dias, the rest of the hall cast in deep, deep shadows, and there are only a handful of people present. There is an attendant to her right. The four guards are standing between the dias and Lance. Lelania looks particularly hard at them, as if just noticing that they haven't left after bringing Lance in. He isn't in chains, but he feels the restriction in his tight throat and his hands, viced around his own knees as he waits.

Lelania turns to her attendant.

"Why are the guards still here?" Her voice is soft and melodic with the inquiry, still a bit groggy, "I want to speak to him alone."

"This man committed a violent crime," the attendant says, "It is for Your safety."

"I saw what he did to the advisor," Lelania says. She doesn't say his name. Lance wonders if she even knows it. "And I heard the General's testimony, and the young one who spoke on this man's behalf. I have nothing to fear from him. I want to speak to him alone."

The attendant bows her head and steps gracefully from the dias. The guards follow her immediately, breaking their formation around Lance with no ounce of hesitation and trooping off into the shadows. Lance has to struggle hard not to twist around to watch them go. His heart is beating so fast that he's dizzy with it. He stays where he is, eyes trained on the polished floor directly in front of him, until the sound of footsteps fades, and a door far behind him closes, leaving only silence.

Lelania breaks it with another poorly stifled yawn. She scrubs her eye almost casually. 

"What do you think your punishment should be?"

It's not the question Lance is expecting and he lifts his head, staring before he can catch himself. His mind totally blanks. He isn't sure what she's asking… He knows that physical violence hasn't been tolerated here in several hundred years - it's why this section of planets have been thriving in peace, and why they have so much disdain for the Galra, and the Empire, and anyone like them.

Coran spent weeks going over all this with them.

Lance knows what the punishment traditionally is and what it should be for him, as well. Having your hands tied down at your sides,  _ "So you cannot raise them again in anger," _ for however long it takes for you to learn the lesson; being dependent on and indebted to the person you harmed for the duration of that time. His status as a Paladin does not exempt him from that.

Just the thought of being indebted to Telmen has Lance's stomach rolling, anger catching in his quickening breath. That fire rolls through him all over again. After what Telmen said about Keith, Lance doesn't think he could endure it silently.

But he doesn't have much of a choice, does he? It's probably the only thing that's going to appease the Dekkens and fix this mess. He did it to himself. The least he can do for his team is not make the negotiations even harder than he already has - if the negotiations are even still a thing. Lance has the sinking feeling that they're not. He still resolves to  _ fix this. _

He just can't open his mouth.

"You're still angry."

Lelania's quiet, thoughtful voice startles Lance so much that he jerks, meeting her eyes. They're brighter than they were a moment ago, more periwinkle blue than lavender, glowing. The feeling that there's something else  _ in there _ crawls back down his spine.

"A man in your position should not let his anger overcome him so easily," she says, and gives some merit to the absolutely horrifying way she seems to be staring right into his soul, rooting around inside of his head without him having to say a word. She watches him for so long, pressing down on his silence, that the feeling starts to go out of Lance's legs. "But I can see that this is not a common occurrence, and that your emotions are still unusually turbulent. ….I want to speak to the Black Paladin."

Lance doesn't register that it's his dismissal until Lelania's attendant reappears from the shadows without so much as a sound, making a motion for him to rise as she approaches him. Lance does it as gracefully as he can with two legs that are trying to slip out from under him without his permission. He mimics the attendants bow of reverence, then follows her back across the dark hall. The light from outside as she opens the door doesn't even seem to penetrate it.

The others are all there, their nice clothes from the ballroom looking dull and out of place in the stark lighting of the corridor. Coran has joined them now, just as anxious as the rest. He is with Allura, Hunk, and Pidge, who are clustered in a small whispering group that jumps and goes silent as a single entity when the door opens. Keith is standing slightly apart from them with his eyes trained on the door, statuesque in the sense that he doesn't even blink.

He's looking at the attendant and not at Lance, so he sees it when she motions for him.

"She wants to speak with you, Black Paladin."

Keith pushes off from the wall and strides through the door that she holds open for him. He brushes past Lance as he moves out of Keith's way with his gaze straight ahead, jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowed. That erratic, nervous hum in Lance's body quadruples. It almost crushes him to the floor. His legs shake as he crosses the hall and takes up the space that Keith abandoned.

The others flock to him immediately. Their worry and curiosity overcomes their sense of propriety; this is not the time or place to ply him with questions about what happened, to right the rumors that have already begun to spread like choking vines through the court, but they stop after their first few go unanswered. It feels like the longest wait of Lance's life.

When Keith is finally ushered out by the attendant, his eyes move over Lance like Lance isn't even there. Lance feels that like a physical blow, a punch that knocks him breathless. Keith turns to Coran, who straightens his shoulders, and says, "Take Lance back to our rooms and help him gather up his stuff. You're both going back to the Castle tonight."

"So, what, are the rest of us are staying?" Pidge asks, frowning.

"That means they're still willing to negotiate with us," Allura says. She seems relieved, but not entirely happy. "Why is Lance being dismissed, then?"

"Yeah, he's half the reason most of them have even agreed to listen to us," Hunk says, resting his hand protectively on Lance's shoulder.

"And he's the entire reason our supporters are backing out now," Keith says, with that unwavering kind of authority that is firmly detached, that leaves no room for further protest. His next words are deliberate, "You all know how important this mission is. The rest of us are staying to try and work things out, but Lance is leaving. Put your personal feelings aside and get this done."

There's a tense silence.

This hurts worse than actually being stabbed.

Lance feels pulled apart, and finds it hard to swallow past the tightness in his throat.

He moves without saying anything; shrugging out from under Hunk, pushing past Allura and Pidge, and Coran quickly falls in beside him as he starts back down the hall. Every step seems like more of a task than the one before it, all his guilt and frustrations weighing him down so much that Lance thinks he's going to sink right through the floor, just melt into it completely - too down and drained to notice the symphony of voices that spring up behind him in last minute arguments.

Coran puts a hand on his shoulder, offering some support.

Lance barely even feels it.

\----

The first thing Lance did after being escorted back to the Castle of Lions was have a massive, full blown panic attack. Three days of unyielding anxiety tumbled together in a blur of dragging hours and sleepless nights spent searching for distraction from his deviating thoughts. Lance paced and shook and twisted his poor hands until Coran finally offered to medicate him. It was becoming increasingly obvious that he couldn't calm himself, and his exhausted body and mind finally gave out.

Coran tells Hunk because Lance won't say anything to burden the others.

Hunk tells Keith, saying without saying that Lance is his own worst enemy and he has punished himself enough.

Keith hadn't planned on yelling at him again. They secured the alliance. In the end, it wasn't that big of an issue for most people. Telmen wasn't very well-liked, and after Allura healed both Telmen and the General of even their most minor injuries and Keith offered them both a personal apology on Lance's behalf, it was an easy thing for most of the Court, and Lelania, to forget. There were were more pressing matters to deal with and everything worked out in their favor, though they're treading softly going forward.

Keith isn't angry.

_ Wasn't  _ angry.

He is just  _ beyond  _ shocked that it was  _ Lance. _

He expects Pidge, or even Allura, to act rashly or emotionally and compromise a mission - he has done it himself before, more times than he can count. But Hunk and Lance are the ones to always reign the others in when Keith can't. Lance keeps them in line, keeps them  _ together. _ Lance calmly talks them through whatever issues arise and reasonably comes to a compromise with them, and takes on more of the burden of leadership than he has to.

He's the most stable person in Keith's life.

So Keith thinks it's fair to be deeply unsettled after Lance just yanked the ground out from under him in five different directions. Keith feels like he's free falling and he just hasn't hit the ground yet.

So he leaves it alone.

He knows if he says something now, they'll just fight.

He doesn't  _ want _ to fight with Lance.

He wants….

He wants a lot of things, alright?

\----

They're all kept busy over the next couple of weeks, but things smooth themselves out eventually. Their moods lighten. Their routines return to normal. Lance stops fake-smiling and pretending to be fine - the others coax him into  _ being _ fine. He stops finding reasons not to be alone with Keith when Keith doesn't try to breach this thing that's suddenly between them. Keith thinks he deserves some kind of award for this amazing display of patience on his part, because not saying anything is almost killing him.

That  _ I love you _ keeps rebounding in his head.

It gets his heart beating hard and fast, his face flushing warm. He quickly curbs those feelings as soon as they surface. Lance didn't mean to say it. He blurted it out without thinking when he was upset about something else. Maybe he was just being dramatic. Maybe he meant that he loves Keith the same way that he loves Hunk and the others, and that's fine.

But there's just that nagging thought that maybe he  _ didn't  _ mean it like that. Maybe he meant something else. Maybe he meant something more. Keith has tried for a long time to accept the fact that Lance's friendship is all that he's going to have, and that it's enough, and now this doubt (this hope) is hounding his every waking moment.

He finally breaks - finally braces for the impact.

It's on his mind while they're loading the Altean dishwasher together. It's something they've done a thousand times - a mundane task that they both perform on autopilot - but this time Lance is laughing, talking, perfectly at ease, and Keith is getting caught on his smile and the crinkles around his blue eyes, the upward quirk at the corner of his mouth. Keeps watching Lance's long hands carefully plucking up each dish out of the sink and fitting them into the rack. His sleeves are turned up at the elbow, water beading down his forearms. 

"We should talk."

It's only when Lance's voice stops that Keith realizes he's said it in the middle of some comment Lance was making, that he didn't hear a word of it. He feels a little bad about that. Lance's eyebrows come together as he looks at Keith. He's still smiling.

"Well, I  _ was _ talking," he says, "Didn't realize I was the only one participating."

He slides another plate beneath the running water, sits it in an empty space in the rack that's separating them. Keith is still holding one that's ready to go in. He spins it between his hands, looking at it, then looking up at Lance. Lance meets his gaze questioningly.

"I meant," Keith says, his pulse rocketing away, "Uh. About what you… said… before."

"About what?"

Keith frowns.

Why is he doing this? He knows what. Keith knows he knows because Lance is suddenly very busy rinsing off a plate that is perfectly spotless under the water and he's not looking up anymore. His shoulders are tense, mouth pressed. The water rushes noisily. That plate spins between Keith's hands again, nervousness winning out as the tension buds and blooms and grows.

"Nothing," he says, eyes and voice both directed at the floor, "Nevermind."

He sets the plate in the rack and picks up another out of the sink. He's stupid for thinking Lance meant it that way and there's no sense in bringing it up if Lance is just going to pretend it didn't happen.

Whatever.

It's fine.

(It's not fine.)

\----

"Oh, come on, Hunk,  _ one more!" _

Hunk is suppressing a huge,  _ huge _ yawn, sprawled over on his side on the couch, halfway through the process of getting up. He is clearly not interested in the demands being cast at him. He rolls to his feet with a firm but sleepy, "Nope. No way. My bed is calling my name, dudes."

"That's  _ us," _ Lance insists, rioting from his place on the couch beside Keith, where they were all three sharing the blanket before Hunk so callously abandoned them. He cups his hands around his mouth, calls, "Huuuunnk."

Keith mimics him, posture and tone.

"Huuuunnkk!"

"Huuu _ uuunkk!!" _

"Alright, knock it off, you guys," Hunk says, smiling, "Seriously, it's bedtime."

Lance groans and slaps his thighs, head thrown against the back of the couch, "Dude, sooo lame. We're just getting to the good stuff!"

"We're never going to figure out who killed Kertengin if you keep limiting us to two episodes a night," Keith adds, gesturing at the monitor. The end credits (a boxy alien script that none of them can read) are frozen, prompting them to continue. "There are like fifty episodes left!"

"I know, I'm sorry!" Hunk claps his palms together and looks truly apologetic even as he skirts around the table in the center of the lounge. "We can marathon tomorrow, I'm seriously beat."

"You're picking up the chip bowl," Lance declares, pointing, because Hunk is doing exactly that.

"They're  _ good _ chips and you two won't leave me any if I don't take them with me!"

"We wouldn't," Keith confirms.

"Yeah,  _ out of spite,"  _ Lance adds.

"I can't believe Hunk doesn't want to spend time with us. We're his best friends."

"I know, it's unbelievable! We're  _ so _ charming and fun to be around! We're handsome."

"We're funny."

"We don't argue with him about made up math things like Pidge does!"

"Yeah, we tell him he's right  _ all the time!" _

"Because he  _ is!" _

"Okay!" Hunk laughs, "Goodnight!!"

A chorus of undaunting boos chases him out the door. Lance sighs as he turns around and slumps deeply into the couch, bunching the blanket up with both hands below his chin and doing a spectacular pout that has Keith smirking and looking away for a second.

He pushes Lance beneath the blanket.

"So pick out a movie."

"What, you're not gonna lame out on me, too?" Lance asks, rolling his head toward Keith.

"Pick a movie before I change my mind."

He says it slightly louder this time, eyes on the ceiling. Lance is grinning as he throws the blanket off and searches for the tablet. The Castle's directory has a limitless supply of Altean cinematography. The "movies" are more like television specials - they tend to be about two vargas on average and are usually split into several parts. Apparently Alteans, with their rich and elaborate history, don't know how to tell a quick story. Which explains why Coran is so long-winded at times. But the directory also has a surplus of "imported" films, also - and while the Earthlings usually have very little cultural context, most of them are still engaging enough to enjoy.

Last time they visited Earth, Pidge imported a ton of movies and tv series for them. But they've seen them all a hundred times, by now, and it's fun to watch someone new once in a while.

Lance unearths the tablet and leans back into the couch, only halfway into his previous position. His head rests against Keith's arm this way, so Keith could also see their options as Lance scrolls through them if Lance actually scrolled at a normal rate. As it is, he seems to swipe rapidly without taking any of the titles or descriptions in at all. Keith watches the blur of text and cover images until one snags Lance's attention and he swipes back up.

"This one sounds good!"

"Subtitles," Keith says, reading over his shoulder.

"What?"

"It's only available with subtitles."

"Whaaat," it's drawn out in disappointment this time as Lance finally lands on the part of the description where it says SUBTITLES ONLY. He swipes out and goes back to scrolling. "Why do aliens hate people with ADHD? Why am I personally being attacked because I can't read and pay attention to what's happening on the screen at the same time?"

"I'll write them a strongly worded letter," Keith says.

_ "Thank _ you, Keith!"

It takes them longer to find a movie than it should. Keith doesn't have a preference, exactly, but he knows from experience that Lance will watch literal garbage and has to be firmly shot down half a dozen times before he picks something with taste.

They both slide back beneath the blanket to stave off the draft in the open lounge. Lance hogs it, and Keith lets him. Lance keeps up a running commentary as the movie progresses, with Keith murmuring and laughing in response, occasionally making an observation. Lance changes positions fifty times. He leans against Keith's shoulder. He moves his restless hands without thought, plucking one of Keith's hands out of his lap, and Keith's heart spikes such a good, surprised feeling through his chest that his breath actually catches.

Lance's gaze stays on the screen, totally focused the entire time. He makes a comment about the poor decisions the protagonist is making. He laughs. He moves Keith's hand into a more comfortable position so he can hold it in both of his, resting it palm down on his leg. His brushes his thumbs over the back of Keith's hand, circles his knuckles and presses down gently into the prominent dips between them, moving down his fingers and back up again. Keith's sensations are narrowed down to the pads of Lance's fingers tracing over his skin. Lance's warm weight leaning against his side. The low resonance of Lance's voice.

Keith knows if he moves or brings attention to it in any way that Lance will stop.

Maybe it's selfish. And stupid. Keith just wants to enjoy the attention for a while - the knowledge that Lance is comfortable enough with him to touch him like this, like it's something normal. It has warm and cold feelings swirling like a hurricane under Keith's skin. But he wants this. So he doesn't say anything. Doesn't breathe too heavily, keeps his gaze focused ahead.

He does move eventually. His leg is falling asleep, so he shifts it just a fraction of an inch. He holds his breath - Lance shifts his own legs, lifts Keith's hand, never looking away from the screen - and Keith breathes out in relief, settling. Not a moment later Lance stiffens beside him, which has Keith doing exactly the same thing. They sit in that tense silence for all of two seconds, and then Lance is releasing Keith's hand without looking at him, shifting away; pushing out a laugh under his breath and muttering, "Sorry," as he puts that space between them, physically and not-physically.

It's just...  _ space. _ Distance.

Keith feels that quiet warmth curling into a tight ball in his chest, his mouth pulling into a frown.

He looks down at his hands, over at Lance's.

"It's okay."

He starts to let it go. Again. He really does. He watches Lance twisting his own hands together and the ground rushes up to meet him. The crash is him asking, "Why do you do that?"

"Just fidgeting," Lance says.

It's another forced laugh, that worried crease forming between his eyebrows as he looks ahead at the screen and not at Keith; hands rubbing up his arms, restless, anxious.

"No, I meant - "

"Sorry," Lance says again, firmer, his eyebrows drawing down, "I just - I wasn't paying attention. I'll leave you alone, man, I promise."

"That wasn't - is there - " Keith's blood rushes to his face, his chest heaving. "Is there something wrong with me?"

Lance looks at him then.

"What? No, dude!"

Keith doesn't believe him. "I'm literally the only person you won't just  _ touch _ or hold onto, Lance! There's gotta be something!"

"I know you don't like that stuff!"

Keith takes a long time to actually process it.

He doesn't realize that he's sitting up, leaning forward, until he's already reaching across Lance and Lance is pressing back into the couch to get out of his way. Keith picks up the tablet resting on top of the blanket. He pauses the movie - wants Lance's undivided attention -  _ needs _ some kind of eye contact, or acknowledgement that Lance is  _ hearing him _ \- and tosses the tablet onto the table.

It makes a loud noise as it collides with one of the half-empty snack bowls, sends bits of trail mix raining, has Lance flinching slightly as Keith leans back into the seat beside him.

Keith turns to look at him, asks, bewildered, "What?"

"What?" Lance parrots, same tone of voice.

"I don't like what stuff?" Keith asks.

"Me? Touching you?" Lance moves his hands, uncertainty in the motion and the way he  _ asks _ it rather than  _ says _ it - in the way he doesn't, or won't, or  _ can't  _ look at Keith. "Touching in general? Like…. Like, intimately. Like this. It's… I - I get - I get pretty handsy sometimes. I know you're not - into that - so I try not to - But I forget. I mean, I don't  _ forget _ \- I just - Y'know -"

Keith could scream.

His insides are shaking so badly he could  _ scream. _

"When did I ever say that I don't want you to touch me, Lance?"

He's shocked his voice is so even.

He can actually see the struggle as Lance processes this, mouth moving, hands frozen, brain screeching to a halt as he mentally combs back through every conversation they've ever had. Years and years of countless interactions. Because Keith is doing the same exact thing. He knows he's not…. "Handsy". He knows he's not very affectionate even when he wants to be, but he's been getting better. He's getting better at reaching out. He's getting better at accepting the hugs and high fives and hands randomly grasping at him regardless of who they belong to, because it's a kind of intimacy that he's been  _ craving _ since his dad passed away all those years ago, and he finally  _ has that _ again.

Except Lance is always  _ doing this. _ Always pulling back.

He wants Lance to touch him so badly sometimes that Keith is ready to crawl out of his skin.

"I - " Lance falters, "You didn't - "

He has a white-knuckled grip on his own two hands, keeps himself pressed into the back of the couch as he looks at anything but Keith. Keith is gripping the edge of the sofa, perched on the edge, his body angled toward Lance. It takes every ounce of willpower he has not to get up, or fold his arms, or close himself off in any way. To stay open, and honest, and patient.

Lance's face is red, gaze down and to the side.

"I know you don't… want to be like that with someone. And - and I  _ do. _ I-I mean - " Lance sighs in frustration, squeezes his eyes closed. "I shouldn't… I dunno. I feel like I'm… pushing that on you, I guess. And I shouldn't. I-I don't… want to make you uncomfortable."

Keith doesn't know what to say to that. He ends up staring, heart beating and sinking and leaping at wild intervals inside of him. Has he not…. Reciprocated enough? Has he not made it clear enough with his actions that he  _ wants _ to be close to Lance? He doesn't... Keith has no idea what he's doing wrong. But Lance sounds like he's already made up his mind about it.

Keith's willpower - his resolve - crumbles.

Shaking, he rises to his feet. He stands there for a second, trying to gather his thoughts, and all he can think of to say is,

"You didn't ask me what I wanted, Lance."

He steps away, around the table. He hears Lance moving behind him, throwing off the blanket and stumbling to his feet, and doesn't look back.

"W-wait! Where are you going?"

"To bed. I'm tired. Goodnight."

"Keith!"

Lance's hand closes around his wrist, pulls him back - let's go the second Keith turns and hangs in the air between them before closing into a fist, dropping to his side. Lance's eyes are such a clear, beautiful blue that Keith can't hold his gaze for long. He looks down, away.

His whole heart aches.

Lance's voice is tense, quiet,

"What… what do you want, Keith?"

Keith feels that fear burning coldly through his insides.

At some point, he has to let this go. He's so tired of feeling like this, so tired of holding it in, that he feels like he's going to burst. He hesitates. And then he reaches out, and does the one thing he's been  _ wanting  _ to do for  _ so long. _

He takes Lance's hand.

It fits so neatly in Keith's that it's almost unbearable. Lance's brown hand is longer than Keith's, his palm wider, calluses softened by lotion and constant care. Each one of his fingernails and cuticles are perfectly trimmed, where Keith's are all torn and rough in places. Keith glides his thumb over Lance's knuckles. He squeezes gently and can't pull his eyes away. He wants to memorize every freckle dotting the back of Lance's hand, every vein, every line, while he has the chance.

"I want this," Keith says softly, his head bowed, "I want  _ you, _ Lance. I just want to be with you. Without things being weird, or without fighting or tiptoeing around each other all the time. I want... to be able to tell you how much you mean to me, I want to  _ show _ you how much you mean to me. I want you to feel as comfortable around me as I do when I'm with you. I want you… to feel safe with me. I... I want to…. Hold your hand. And - and kiss you. And just be close to you like…  _ all the time. _ I want… I want you to want those things too…."

His voice is shaking by the end of it.

He's afraid of what Lance might say, or what he won't say.

He isn't expecting to hear a broken whimper, or to look up with a jolt and see that Lance is crying.

Not the quiet kind of crying where it's just a few tears wetting his cheeks, sticking to his eyelashes - the full-on snot and tears streaming down his face, flushed and warm and all twisted up with his emotions kind of crying. Keith murmurs, "Lance…" and Lance heaves in a shuddering breath like he's just come up for air, like before this moment he was drowning.

"I want…. those things, too," Lance chokes out, and once he gets going he can't seem to stop, mumbling, rambling, "I want those things too, Keith.  _ So bad, _ dude. I want to kiss your stupid face, and pet your stupid hair, and hold your hand, and tell you how much I lo- love you, and - " His grip around Keith's hand tightens fiercely. "I want - " He squeezes his eyes closed, a few more tears slipping out as he gasps. "I want to be the person that's there for you when - when you feel like you don't have anyone else. I want you to know that no matter what happens out here you still have  _ me. _ I'm like  _ so _ happy when I'm around you, I forget sometimes that you don't - you said - before. You said you weren't like, interested in this stuff, so I kind of just stuffed it all down and - "

He trails off, half-sobbing. Keith's heart is in his throat.

_ Oh. Shit. _

"I don't want to have sex," Keith blurts out, his grip so tight around Lance's hand that he's worried, but Lance is returning it full force. Lance is nodding his head, trying to get his breath, and Keith goes on haltingly, embarrassed that it's _this._ _This_ is the miscommunication they've been having all this time. _This_ is the stupid wall that's been keeping them apart all this time. "I mean - maybe. Someday. If - I dunno. I don't - it's hard to explain. I guess…. I guess that's not… fair. To you. I - "

Lance is shaking his head now.

"I'm  _ so fine _ with just holding hands, Keith," he says, gasping in a sharp breath. He swipes his free hand across his cheek, but it doesn't do much good. His eyes are still welling up, pooling over. "If that's all you wanna do, is cuddle and holds hands and maybe kiss sometimes. And just…  _ be _ with me. God, I'm so fine with that, dude, you have no idea. I don't know why I couldn't say it before. I don't know why I was so scared.... I didn't - mean to hurt you - I was just - I don't feel like I - "

"Don't say you're not good enough," Keith says, realizing what Lance is going to say, and what's bothering him most, and finding his voice around his fast beating heart, around the light feeling rising in his chest, "Lance, you're the whole reason this - you're the whole reason  _ I  _ haven't fallen apart yet. After all the awful, crazy stuff that happens out here? Sometimes you're the only thing that keeps me grounded. I just thought… I thought  _ I _ was doing something wrong."

"I thought it was me..." Lance's voice is so small and uncertain, like what he's feeling is stupid, or unimportant, and Keith is angry with himself for ever letting Lance feel like this, "I don't… I didn't… want to be too much, y'know? I - "

"You're not too much, Lance. What you want isn't too much. I should have… I should have said something sooner. It's my fault if you feel like it is. "

As soon as he says it, Keith realizes that it's true. He is never going to be a better leader - never going to be a better… whatever he's going to be with Lance - a friend, or something else - if he can't admit to his own faults. He knows Lance thinks that he doesn't do enough, doesn't contribute enough, because Keith feels like that, too. But where Keith externalizes, focused on one task and blind to all others, Lance internalizes. He spreads himself too thin trying to be there for everyone else. He needs to be reminded of how much he  _ does,  _ even in the smallest things, and Keith has totally failed him in that.

He was just so scared of getting hurt.

That's his whole problem, isn't it?

"I'm not good at this," Keith goes on. He squeezes Lance's hand, "But I want to be. I want to be with  _ you, _ if you want me too, Lance." Keith pauses. Lance doesn't seem to know what else to say. His mouth trembles, his blue eyes wide and glazed over with fresh tears, inhales short and sharp. Still holding onto his hand, Keith steels himself and asks, "You said… you wanted to kiss me?"

"Y-yeah," Lance says it, thick like he's in shock.

"So what's stopping you?"

Lance stares at him dumbly. He blinks, and the last few crystalline tears slide down his face, dripping from his chin. Keith steps closer, anchored by their joined hands, by the way Lance's eyes track the movement steadily without once looking away. That one step brings him into the warm pocket of Lance's personal space, almost flush against his chest, toe to toe, and Keith has to tilt his head up just a fraction before he feels Lance's shaking breath gust over his lips.

"W-wait!"

Lance jerks back, yanks his hand out of Keith's, and Keith has less than a second to feel like he's been completely cut open and left exposed before Lance is pulling the collar of his own t-shirt up with both hands, ducking his face into it. He's struggling to wipe his face clean, groaning, sniffling, "N-not yet. I wasn't ready, I'm - I'm so gross…! Hang on…!"

That tension that's been building in Keith's chest suddenly springs loose. He gusts out a laugh. He doesn't point out that Lance is just making the inside of his shirt gross, that he's just going to want to change it later on. He watches Lance, grinning helplessly.

"I don't care if you're gross, Lance."

"Well,  _ I _ care, jeez, Keith, one of us has to have some sense of decency!"

"Guess I'm just impatient," Keith says, "I've been wanting to kiss you for a while."

Lance's face is still hidden under his hands, under the press of his shirt. Keith sees the tips of his ears go red around the soft curls of brown hair at his temples, and the warm feeling that's starting to surface, that makes his whole body glow, finally pushes the rest of Keith's laughter out. It's been a while since he laughed like this, since he felt like this. They haven't even really established anything, and he already feels a thousand times lighter than he's ever felt in his life.

Emerging with a huff, Lance smooths his shirt down with a nervous movement of his hands. His face is red from being vigorously scrubbed and the color lingers because Keith is still laughing, bent almost double as he clutches his knees. Lance's mouth twitches up, but he presses it into a stern frown that doesn't even try to reach his bright, happy eyes.

"Um, hello?? We were kind of in the middle of something here."

Keith stifles a chuckle behind his fist, straightening up. "You're the one - you're the one who said to wait so you could wipe the snot off your face."

"Did you really want your first kiss to be all gross and wet, Keith? Because I do not!"

Keith's understanding of kissing is that mouths are gross and wet as a general rule.

"Aren't they supposed to be?"

"No!" Lance practically shouts it, offended, a laugh busting free. Despite his volume, when he lifts his hands to curl them around Keith's face, it is with a tenderness that bellies all of his newly-won enthusiasm, that makes Keith's laughter stop on the spot as Lance leans in. "It's supposed to be like this. I guess."

That little laugh grazes Keith's lips first.

Keith doesn't know where to look. He blinks, gaze on Lance's mouth. Blinks again, glancing up. Lance's eyes are a breathtaking glacier blue, filled with fissures and flecks, ten different hues, bright and dark, before they drift closed.

Keith isn't expecting to feel so… magnetized.

It's just Lance's lips pressing against Keith's, but the soft lingering contact sends sparks shooting all through Keith's insides like a fuse that's been lit, static pooling high in his belly, gathering in his palms as he latches onto Lance's waist and pulls them closer together so they're touching from the knees up. Lance slides one hand around his neck, warm fingers pressing into his hair, thumb brushing the line of his jaw, and Keith can feel his pulse quickening. It beats in the tips of his fingers as he curls them into Lance's hips, it escapes as a small noise from the back of his throat.

It only lasts a few seconds.

Lance puffs out a breathless laugh against his mouth and breaks away, "Oh wow."

Keith slowly opens his eyes, surprised by how heavy they are.

"What…?"

"That noise," Lance teases, just inches away. He's grinning, and Keith feels his face burn.

"I didn't make a noise," he denies, scowling.

Lance's hands squeeze around him, as if scared Keith is going to pull away, but he keeps right on digging, voice humming, "Really? I'm pretty sure I heard a noise. It sounded like you enjoyed it."

"Enjoyed what? You didn't even do anything."

"Oh-ho wow. Feistiness from the guy who just whimpered - "

"I did not whimper, Lance."

"I know what I heard."

"This is going to get your kissing privileges revoked, and you just got them like two seconds ago. I'd lay off making fun of me if I were you."

He doesn't mean it as a genuine threat. He knows Lance isn't really making fun of him. He can tell by how warm Lance's cheeks look - how quick his breath is - that Lance felt something similar even if he didn't vocalize it. He's not pulling away.

Lance's expression softens.

"Sorry," he says quietly, "That was habit. Can I do it again?"

"What, make fun of me?"

"No, Keith," Lance laughs, but it's different this time. It's lower, and the way he says Keith's name scratches at some primal itch deep in Keith's chest, makes his heart trip and ache. "Can I kiss you again?"

"Oh. Y-yeah. You don't - " Keith fumbles, glancing away, then back. "You don't have to ask. Every time. You can just kiss me, if you want to."

"Yeah? As many times as I want?"

Lance's mouth curls into that lopsided grin that Keith loves, and this time he doesn't stop himself from lifting his hand from Lance's waist, sneaking it up between them to touch the corner of his mouth with his thumb. Lance's smile widens, his cheeks growing warm under Keith's fingertips, and Keith returns it, awed by the contentment spreading through him.

He feels like it took an eternity to get here.

"Yeah," Keith says.

"You can - you can kiss me too, y'know," Lance says, only a little hesitant to voice something that he wants, even now, "You don't have to ask. Ever. I don't mean for that to sound totally desperate or anything, I just -"

The upside? Keith has a better way to shut Lance up when he's talking too much.

It's easy for Keith to slide his hand into Lance's hair, to cup the back of his neck and urge him forward those last couple of inches until their mouths meet again. Keith likes kissing more than he thought he would. Probably because it's Lance. It's Lance's mouth moving against his, Lance's arms coming around him, Lance's fingers raking his skin, Lance's chest, Lance's stomach, Lance's knees all pressed against him, each touch a light in the dark. Lance's breath against his lips as he pulls back to laugh again.

It's Lance, dropping a small kiss to the corner of Keith's mouth, and then his cheek, and then his jaw. It's Lance laughing into the hair at his temple, it's Lance's voice in his ear, murmuring soft, senseless apologies for being so dumb, and calling Keith dumb, and saying that he loves him again, and again. Lance's arms squeezing him tightly, pulling him up onto his toes.

Keith's entire body is warm. Singing. Humming.

His is thriving under Lance's overwhelming affection. Keith curls his arms around Lance's chest, crushes the taller man tightly against him. He presses his face into Lance's neck, and breaths him in. The fresh scent of his shampoo, his body wash and lotion, his natural scent hiding just underneath, something salty and sweet that Keith wants to bury away deep in his heart.

This is Lance. This is  _ Lance. _

\----

The sound of the door swooshing open startles them both.

Lance actually  _ shrieks, _ his fingers digging into Keith's back, spine snapping straight as he goes rigid in Keith's arms. Keith's heart jumps in his chest and he yanks his hands back, sick, startled - Lance doesn't - Lance doesn't let go of him. He clutches Keith tighter even as he swivels around to look at the intruder pacing distractedly into the room at this ungodly hour.

It's Pidge, their nose pressed to one of those handheld devices Coran is often walking around with that looks like a spacey flip-phone. They glance up with a frown on their face.

"Have you guys seen that blue data chip of mine?" Pidge asks, "It's got some stuff on it I need."

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" Lance asks, his voice higher than usual.

Pidge doesn't seem to notice.

"Hilarious, Lance. My data chip?"

They're already stepping down onto the couch, balanced precariously as they start lifting the blanket and turning over cushions. Keith and Lance awkwardly step apart, hands lingering on each other and then jerking away, before they turn to shuffle through the junk on the table and crawl along the floor, hands moving in the dark places under the raised platform of the couch. The data chip is smaller than a fingernail. Lance finds it underneath the bowl of space trail mix on the table, after he swipes it to the floor along with some crumbs and hears the more metallic pop as it falls alongside the softer bits of wafer and nuts.

"This thing?" he asks, holding it up to Pidge.

Pidge drops the cushion in their hands, their face lighting up. "Yes! Thank you!" They take the chip and climb back over the couch, thumbing at the device in their hands with renewed energy. The door slides closed behind them, leaving Lance and Keith alone again, and the lounge in a peculiar state of disarray. Keith is sitting on the floor on his knees, feeling weirdly nervous. He glances at Lance.

The table is between them now.

Lance is dusting his hands together, then swiping them down the sides of his pants, his brow creased as he glances around aimlessly. He lifts a hand to rub his arm and grip his elbow.

Keith let's him say something first, afraid of the sudden tension and how it might break.

"Do you," Lance's voice startles him, "Want to finish the movie?"

Keith glances toward the monitor, the paused screen dim from the inactivity. He forgot all about it, and he hadn't been paying much attention to it, anyway.

"Not really…"

"Okay. Me either. D-do you… Um. Do you want to sleep with me tonight?"

Warmth blooms across Keith's face, his stomach swooping in surprise.

Lance's face is burning, too, his cheeks ruddy brown and his blue eyes wide, lifting to the ceiling as the implication of his own words sink in. Lance bats his hands, stuttering, "I m-mean - I mean in my room, with me, like actually sleeping. Just, y'know, some cuddling. Maybe. If you - if you want. We can - talk and stuff. In private. Because we're both stupid and I think - I think we have a lot - to talk about. Y'know? If - if you want. No pressure or anything."

"O-oh. Y-yeah. Yeah, that's - Okay."

"Y-you don't have to." Lance doesn't look at him, nervously moving his hands. "If it's- if its too much - I, um - "

"It's not," Keith says, sure in the face of Lance's uncertainty, "I want to. Do you…?"

"Y-yeah. I do. Want to. I mean." Lance lets out a soft laugh, his face still warm. "Obviously. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't."

"Just checking," Keith says, meeting Lance's gaze with a small smile.

His face is still burning, the heat creeping down his neck and flushing his whole body. Keith presses his knuckles against his cheek and picks himself up off the floor, righting the upset pillows to distract himself, and takes some comfort in seeing Lance do the same thing, trying to hide his own embarrassment. Part of him thinks they're too old to be acting this shy now that they're starting to air out the feelings they've been skirting around for so long.

They've saved the universe any number of times, liberated planets, saved countless lives, fought and led a hundred battles - and here they are not knowing how to act with another new and fragile thing held between two hands.

They pick up the messy lounge in silence. Lance resets the movie so it won't start up in the middle when they come back to it, and turns the monitor off. It's when Lance scoops up the blanket to fold it that Keith realizes he doesn't have anything left to do other than wait, and he's nervous. Well, not nervous. Restless. Giddy. He doesn't know what to expect.

"I'm gonna - " He takes a step, hesitates. "I'm gonna go change and grab some stuff from my room."

"Okay. I'm right behind you."

Lance fumbles and drops the blanket, though, and he's busy refolding it as Keith leaves the lounge at an almost-run.

\----

Lance panics when he gets to his room and sees the state that it's in.

Normally, he's pretty tidy, but it gets away from him sometimes. It's not like Keith hasn't seen his room before. He was in here just the other day, sitting on the bed and talking while Lance was rearranging his bathroom cabinets, trying to find space for new lotions and other products. Keith has even slept in here before when they've binged Killbot Phantasm for the eight hundredth time and not bothered getting up out of the floor, or picking up their accumulated garbage, for hours on end.

Lance still feels somewhat justified in allowing the blind panic to take hold.

This is different.

He scoops the random clutter into the closet - clothes, shoes, items that haven't found a home yet. He straightens up the bedside table, tossing empty drinks and snack packets into the trash. He strips the sheets and blankets off his bed even though he  _ just _ changed them, hurriedly shoving them into the laundry bin, racing to pull others from the linen closet in his bathroom. He wrestles the new sheets onto the corners of the mattress, shakes the pillows into fresh cases, spreads his favorite red comforter out on top, and breathes a little easier once it's all done.

He turns to tackle the bathroom next. Lance wipes the counter down and then gathers up an armload of towels littering the floor and available surfaces to dump them in the bin. He pushes bottles and canisters back into their rightful places. That's when autopilot kicks in. He's calmer now that his space is clean, and he starts his night time routine.

Lance is running a comb through his hair while his face mask works its magic when Keith finally comes in without bothering to knock.

He's obviously showered. His hair is damp and he's wearing a clean black t-shirt and a pair of shorts, cradling a pillow under his arm. It doesn't have a case on it, the white fabric splotchy and stained yellow from infrequent washes and years of catching Keith's sweat. Lance tries not to make a face when he sees it. He succeeds mostly because his heart leaps at seeing Keith, ready for bed; standing, expectant but nervous, in the middle of his room and looking around as if he's never quite been here before.

Keith's small smile still lights up Lance's entire world.

And then he opens his stupid mouth, uses that smirking tone that Lance has come to find endearing rather than infuriating, "Your face looks gross."

"Your  _ pillow  _ looks gross!!"

"You're not coming to bed like that are you?" Keith asks, still teasing.

"Disrespected in my own house, Keith? You're a guest!"

"I'm something." Keith looks pointedly around the room, at the spotless floor and the neat items on the nightstand. His gaze lingers on the perfectly made bed, his head turned away from Lance. He's kneading the pillow with one hand. "Did you pick up in here?"

Lance scoffs. "No." Keith looks at him, and Lance pretends to be screwing the lid back onto the first random jar he picks up in front of him. He's grateful that his blush won't be obvious under the pale green face mask smeared into his cheeks. "Maybe…."

He hears Keith chuckle and glances up. Keith tosses his gross pillow onto Lance's clean bed, turns and flops gracelessly onto his back on the mattress, rumpling the comforter. Apparently this position leaves him feeling too vulnerable, because he gropes for the pillow, pulling it into his lap as he sits up, resting both feet on the floor. He's directly across from the open bathroom door. Lance snaps his gaze back around, feels that flush spreading down his neck.

_ Keith is in his bed. _

And not because the others are all piled in here for an impromptu slumber party, or because he didn't feel like dragging himself back to his own room for a whole three hours of crash time.  _ God I'm glad I changed the sheets, _ Lance thinks, checking the time on his comm and running water in the sink. He washes the mask off his face with cool water, then moisturizes for good measure. Lance dries his hands off with a new towel and folds it into its proper place on the rack, cutting off the light.

Keith is poking at the holoscreen on the nightstand when Lance leaves the bathroom and comes to the bed.

"Don't wake me up at six am space time."

He's only half joking.

Keith laughs, "I won't."

Lance climbs into bed while Keith sets his alarm (for a reasonable hour, Lance makes a point of noticing) and turns the overhead lights off. The blue accent lights glow faintly in the corners of the room, a thin line of trim at the head of the bed inside the bunk. It's barely enough to see by as Keith pulls the blanket up and settles in, thumping his hideous pillow.

They lay there in silence until their eyes have adjusted, and it's only a little awkward to realize they're both laying on their sides facing each other, with a generous amount of space separating them. Like, an  _ embarrassing _ amount of space. The bed's not that big, and Lance is up against the wall. Keith must be right on the edge, threatening to slide off, in order to be so far away, and Lance shifts nervously, moving his hand into the cold space between them. He doesn't know why he stuffed himself into the corner when what he wants is to be closer to Keith.

He wanted him to have plenty of room…

Keith's hand drops over his - palm hot, fingers curling around Lance's.

"Are you going to cuddle with me or what?" Keith asks.

Maybe the darkness makes him bolder. Maybe this wall coming down between them makes it easier to say. Lance laughs, his worries evaporating, "You really want to cuddle?"

"I thought that was the plan, Lance."

"It was. I panicked."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No," Lance says quickly. He turns his hand under Keith's and grips tight. He lowers his voice, "No. Un-unless you want - ?"

"I'm good," Keith says before he can finish.

"Good."

Lance scoots into the middle of the bed, letting go of Keith's hand only to open his arms to the rest of him, his heart working tremendously in his chest. He might as well just go for it. He doesn't know why he's hesitating now. He always held back before because he thought it made Keith uncomfortable. Now that he knows that's not the case - now that he knows Keith  _ wants _ him - that is so wild. He hasn't fully caught up with it all. It hasn't fully sunken in.

Lance tries a little smirk, "Well, c'mon, then, mullet. Get some of this good lovin'."

Keith's soft laughter is a thrilling surprise. His hand lands on Lance's face, covering his mouth.

"Shut up."

Lance turns his face away, catching Keith's wrist. Keith has raised himself up onto his elbows when Lance wasn't looking, and he leans over Lance now, pinning him down. Lance isn't expecting  _ that _ kind of closeness. He isn't expecting Keith to kiss him again, just a quick press against his mouth before Keith is turning over and laying down beside him, and Lance's whole body lights up in response. An electric charge swoops through him, warmth flooding his chest and spreading into his stomach.

It sits there, weighted down by Keith's back pressed firmly to his front.

Keith takes Lance's arm, the one that's resting under his head, and curls in around himself, fingers circling his smooth wrist. He turns his face into Lance's bicep, like he's embarrassed, which is the cutest thing Lance has ever seen in his life. Lance wraps his other arm around Keith's waist, hands finding his hip and his shoulder in order to squeeze Keith tightly against him, curling around him.

Keith's hair tickles his face, damp and soft and citricy.

Keith laughs again, just a breath, "Are you going to squeeze me like this all night?"

"Maybe?" Lance says, still breathing in deep, closing his eyes. He's glad Keith is facing the other way because he's trying super hard not to smile like a big idiot and it's just not working. His face actually hurts from smiling so much. "Is this okay?"

Lance can feel the quick jump of Keith's pulse, hear and feel the measured way he's breathing. He's not the only one who's nervous, and that makes it easier to bear. Keith shifts a little, and Lance loosens his hold a little, and then they both finally settle into the comfortable embrace.

Keith lays his hands gently over Lance's.

"I guess I'll get used to it," he says, smile obvious in his voice. Lance snorts a laugh into his hair. "Are we boyfriends now?"

"I want to say... Yes?" Lance says. It took guts for Keith to ask that, so the least Lance can do is answer honestly. He's been wondering the same thing. Thinking, idly, that they're twenty years old, and is it silly to use the term  _ boyfriends? _

"Okay," Keith says.

Lance figures it's his turn: "Should we like… talk about boundaries and stuff?"

"Yes?"

"Okay, so. You said you don't want to have sex."

"Right."

"But this is okay?"

His hands are in safe places, but they're pressed pretty close. The last thing Lance wants to do is push Keith into something he doesn't want to do.

"Yeah," Keith says, voice gone soft, "This is okay." Lance's heart practically vibrates out of his chest from pure, unfiltered happiness. He doesn't think he's ever going to stop smiling at this point. It's an exercise in futility. "I'll tell you if it's too much, Lance. So you should… tell me of it's not enough."

"It's enough, Keith."

"I thought just being friends was enough," Keith admits this quietly, as if he doesn't really want Lance to hear him. It's inevitable when Lance has his face resting in Keith's hair, when he can feel Keith's voice under his hand and resonating in his own chest, "You have no idea how long I've been trying to tell myself that. I wish I had… just told you sooner. But I wasn't… sure about things. I guess. I didn't want to mess everything up. I'm always worried about doing that..."

"I know. You shouldn't be. For the record, I almost confessed like… forever ago. But I thought I'd just get over it, y'know? And I thought you didn't want anything like this. I should have just asked you."

"We're… really bad at this whole communicating thing."

Keith's got that cute little frown on his face, thinking about how stupid and needlessly scared the two of them have been over this. Lance doesn't even have to see his face to know it, that his eyebrows have that slight crease between them, pinched together. Even that has him smiling. Lance moves his hand, consumed with the simple knowledge that he  _ can. _ He rubs Keith's hip through his shirt, trying to ease his mind about it, and he absolutely relishes in the small, relaxed sigh this earns him.

"We can work on it," Lance says, "Relationships don't start out perfect, y'know."

"This one is definitely off to a rocky start," Keith laughs.

"Ha! You think?"

\----

Once they get over that threshold, it surprises them both how easy it is to talk to each other.

It's easy to say the things they felt like they couldn't say before.

Keith has his fill of the cuddling well before either of them start feeling legitimately tired. He gets too warm sharing Lance's body heat beneath the blanket and rolls over to the cooler side of the bed for a break. He keeps his arm outstretched so he can hold Lance's hand while they talk. Lance's fingers dance unabashedly over his knuckles, tracing the lines of his palm, further up his arm. It's less distracting than before, though just as pleasant. Even more so, because neither of them are worried.

Lance is looking right at him the whole time, smile filling up his face. He doesn't pull away, let's Keith have his space. When Keith has cooled off and is starting to regret his choice, all he has to do is mention it before Lance is grinning and sliding over to meet him again. Lance drapes an arm around him this time, lays his head on Keith's chest so he can listen to his heartbeat hammer away, embarrassed and excited by the sudden closeness. Lance laughs softly into Keith's shirt, fingers curling in the fabric.

Gradually, his heart beat slows into a steady thump. Lance falls asleep first with his head pillowed on "those amazing pecs". Yes, he says that to Keith's face. Yes, Keith jokingly tries to throw him off for being dumb and embarrassing, and Lance holds onto him tighter, laughing until they both quiet down. Keith's arms stay draped around Lance's shoulders, carding through his hair.

Keith stays awake a while longer, comforted by Lance's weight and the sound of his breathing.

\----

Allura, of all people, is the one who draws attention to them first thing in the morning. It's not unusual for the two of them to walk in together - they usually meet up in the hall at some point in the mornings, anyway. Lance fresh from his shower and Keith from the training deck. So that by itself does nothing to explain the 400 million watt smile that Allura beams at them the second they come into the dining hall for breakfast, where everyone else is already seated.

"Have you sorted things out?" she asks, before Keith has even pulled back his seat.

"Uhh…"

He looks at Lance without meaning to.

It wasn't something they were going to announce or anything. At least, not right away. They both agreed about wanting to stave off the ensuing  _ I told you so's, _ knowing Hunk and Pidge were going to be a particular brand of Vindicated and Exasperated because they have both been trying to move this thing along longer than Keith and Lance have even been aware of it.

Seeing their confusion, Allura elaborates, "Your quintessence has aligned."

Across the table, Hunk goes, "Ooooh," as if something suddenly makes sense. "Is that what that is?"

"What  _ what _ is?" Lance asks, running a hand down his front, looking at Keith.

"I thought I felt something," Pidge says, not bothering to look up from the box of wires they have spread in front of them on the table, or even bothering to sound interested. It clicks into place a moment later, though, and they drop their splicer, frowning, glasses glinting as their gaze shifts upward. "Oh  _ my _ god. Is that what you guys were doing when I walked in last night!?"

"Oh my god, you walked in on them!" Hunk's voice is loud, ecstatic, "Doing what?!"

"They were just standing there! I wondered why Lance screamed like that."

"I didn't  _ scream," _ Lance says, struggling to maintain some of his dignity even though his face is red.

"You screamed."

"I did not!"

"What are you guys talking about?" Keith asks cautiously.

"Your repressed feelings were muddying our connection," Allura says. This comes as somewhat of a shock to Keith. He hadn't known it was something that was bleeding over into the others, that they were picking up on his sad energy. It's what's been shortening everyone's tempers lately, he realizes, bending them to the breaking point. "Do you not feel how much more clear it is now that you've reconciled?"

Keith and Lance look at one another, then take a moment to focus, reaching inward to their bonds with their Lions and with the others -grasping at that core energy that runs like a river through all of them and keeps them connected even outside of Voltron.

It does seem brighter, more lively somehow.

"I don't know why you seem surprised," Allura comments, clearly trying not to laugh, "You've known all along how important it is not to keep secrets. Having that level of trust is what's integral to being able to function as a team."

"Man, no wonder I slept so good last night," Hunk says, spreading out his hands, "Everyone's aura is at peace. Feels nice."

"I do feel oddly refreshed, even though I  _ didn't  _ sleep last night," Pidge says, "I feel good. Energized."

"Well, glad we could share the love," Lance laughs, a little awkwardly.

Keith is frowning.

"I didn't realize how bad it was before," he says, feeling a quiet surge of guilt. He's been dragging down his team this whole time. That's the opposite of what he's supposed to be doing for them.

"I'm not gonna lie and say this is not a definite improvement," Pidge says, looking at him, "But it was more annoying than anything else. Don't beat yourselves up about it."

"We're just happy for you guys," Hunk adds, then backtracks, "I mean. Like. You guys  _ are _ like."

He makes a motion with his hands, gives Keith and Lance a pointed look that has them both feeling even more awkward and too warm. Lance tries to look unabashed, shrugging his shoulder, "Yes! We are! Not that it's any of your business, Hunk!"

"Lance, bud, it is literally  _ everybody's _ business at this point. I don't know how it wasn't obvious to you guys because you were both doing the exact same thing, it's mind blowing, honestly."

"Someone could have said something more direct a little sooner! That might have sped things along."

"Yeah. Except we've been saying that. For months now."

"Years," Pidge says, back to stripping the coating off the wires in their box.

"It has not been  _ years!" _

_ "One _ year," Pidge corrects, "For you. Maybe a little longer. But Keith has been pining his little gay ace heart out since we started with Voltron. You were just too oblivious to notice."

"We have already established that Keith is terrible at sending signals and I am terrible at interpreting them," Lance says, "It's a work in progress!"

"Well, all that is in the past now," Allura says in those same calming tones. It lends a sort of finality to her words, as if they have nothing to look forward to except a bright shining new future. She smiles at them both, softly. "Are you happy?"

Keith doesn't even have to think about it.

"Yeah."

"I could be happier," Lance says, doing a poor job of sounding like it with the laugh budding in his voice, and looking like it as he grins at Keith.

He's the one that reaches between them to thread their hands together. Keith wanted to, but with everyone around, his nerves got ahold of him. Lance does it, never breaking eye contact, and Keith's insides leap with joy.

"How could you possibly be happier?" he asks, "You kissed me sixteen times this morning."

Lance is elated, instantly, "Sixteen, specifically? What, did you count them?"

"No."

Keith has been caught.

"Because I did," Lance says, "And it  _ was _ sixteen, on the nose. And the ear. And the mouth."

Lance pokes Keith's face with his free hand, in each place as he says it. Keith smacks his hand down, embarrassed, but grinning, dizzy with the blood rushing through his heart and to his head. With the laughter bursting out of him as he evades Lance's insistent prodding. With the love he feels flooding the connection he has with his team - his friends, his family -  _ Lance. _

"I was wrong," Pidge says from behind their comm, elbow propped on the table while they're recording the tooth rotting display in front of them. They're smirking, despite their words, "This is worse than the senseless pining."

Hunk shrugs his shoulders, grinning.

"Nah. It's definitely better."

"Do you think one of them cried when they confessed?" Allura asks, always eager for the gossip.

"Oh, Lance definitely cried," Hunk says with absolute certainty, "I'll bet a movement's worth of cleaning duty that he bawled his entire face off."

Pidge raises their voice to ask.

Lance naturally denies everything, refusing to discuss the matter further, even as he hooks his leg around Keith's under the table, so for the contact while he eats his breakfast. Keith smiles at him the entire time - couldn't pull his gaze away for a moment, even if he wanted to - and feels so at home that he doesn't even have the words to describe how good this feels. Finally.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Whooo, we're movin' on up into the good stuff! This one was quite a bit lengthier than the last - and the next one is even longer, so buckle up! I honestly have had such an amazing time writing this fic, and I've gotten so much positive feedback so far! I could bust!! I don't know what to say other than thank you guys so much for reading, and taking the time to let me know what you think, because every comment really does stick with me all throughout the day.
> 
> As someone who is both aro and ace, I don't personally crave anything other than platonic intimacy with my few good friends. This is one of the few times I've written anything romantically inclined, and it's the first time I've made a developing relationship the focal point of a story. But it's been cathartic, in a way. I don't see a whole lot of positive media or fandom content about Asexuality. There's not a lot of understanding about the nuances an asexual or aromantic person can have in their feelings and relationships, or how those things can grow and change. We are just as human as the rest of y'all. So I'm very excited to explore this aspect of Keith's character as the story progresses (I've always thought he was very gay/ace coded from the very beginning, but such is life, am i right).
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this one! And I hope 20BiTeen is treatin' y'all right so far! ♡
> 
> See you next week!
> 
>  
> 
> [my tumblr](http://bobtheacorn.tumblr.com)


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